To talk business.
And after being sick most of the night with terror, I welcome the tingling in the tips of my fingers now and wonder if the sensation is the effect of excitement,the adrenaline of revenge.
Harlen is beside me, and when the solid door at the side of the building snaps closed, Rusty starts the stop watch.
Twenty minutes.
That’s what Keaton said he needed to get them chained to the wall.
My stomach’s in my throat, my pulse thundering in my ears as Harlen holds me close, his touch soft and reassuring as he caresses my arm.
I watch the last minute tick down slowly as the timer perches on the dashboard, and when it hits zero, Harlen grabs my chin, bringing my attention directly to his. His eyes are glassy as he runs the pad of his thumb over my jaw, the other hand curling against the side of my cheek and into my hair.
“You don’t have to do–”
I cut him off before he can say anymore. “You know I have to.” Curling my hand around his wrist, I guide him away from my face, squeezing his hand with my own. “Let me.”
He nods, and then an icy wind instantly washes over me when he kicks open the door and jumps out, the others following. I slide across the seat, and his fingers wrap around my waist, helping me to my feet.
Both Rusty and Chase are standing at Harlen’s back, watching me carefully.
Rusty’s arms slip around to his lower back, shoving what I know is his gun into the waistband of his jeans, then he jerks his head in my direction. “You good, sweet girl?”
I nod, and then I walk in front of them toward the building, the very one that holds the echoes ofourscreams.
My red Chucks brush across the concrete as I follow behind Rusty, keeping my head turned down, breathing through the familiarity of the grim narrow corridor I was so savagely dragged over.
A vicious chill cuts through my nerves, seeping right into the marrow at the thought, and a tender, familiar ache pulses over each of my limbs. I squeeze my eyes closed, quickly shoving it away.
They didn’t break you then, and they will not break you now.
Harlen’s fingers thread into mine where he clenches my trembling hand firmly, and Rusty starts to open the door. It creaks the way I remember, the same clunky, tinny sound of my nightmares, and I hum, distorting the melody when it vibrates in my ears. I take a deep breath, and it pierces the permanent wounds buried beneath my skin. It’s like the sharp pain spurs me on, driving me forward another inch. I squeeze Harlen’s hand and step onto the first landing, the boys close at my back.
“What the fuck is this about?” I hear Manic’s voice, the distortion, the tones of his filth floating through each syllable. “I thought you wanted in?”
As I start to descend the cracked wooden stairs, I see Keaton first. He's twirling a menacing hunting knife in the palm of histattooed hand. “Well, you see, this,” he pauses to take a deep breath before continuing, “is very, very,veryfucking personal.”
A creak at the timber beneath my Chucks has all three men chained to the wall turning their attention to the stairs. Keaton doesn’t follow the movement, instead he smiles. It’s sinister, his face of excitement.
He really is happiest when he gets to hurt people.
Manic starts to laugh, his weak piece of shit son following suit, and who I’ve come to know is Knuckles, Manic’s brother and Menace's uncle, grins at me.
My feet meet the concrete, and I try to ignore how it had felt beneath the arch of my bare soles, or how it only turned colder when I was forced to sit in puddles of my own urine.
I shiver.
“Well, boys, meet Cherry. My sister.” Keaton throws the knife in the air before catching the handle and darting it directly into Knuckle's upper thigh. He wails a guttural cry as it pierces right into the muscle, and instead of suppressing my smile, I let it drift across my lips.
I focus my attention on Keaton, because if I allow my eyes to wander across the room,I will break,and both Laney and Harlen’s mother,theyneed me to stay strong.
The dank scent, sallow light, and filtered distortion through the air is already suffocating enough.
Harlen, Rusty, and Chase move down the stairs, and Manic is nodding. If he could clap, I imagine he would, but the motherfucker’s hands are chained above his head, the exact same way ours were.
Bet it hurts. Bet it aches. Bet it burns.
“Alright. Let's work something out. We don’t have to do this.” Manic has the audacity to try to bargain his life…after everything.It shows just how weak he is, and I have a feeling hedoesn’t know that Rusty knows that it was him who ended his wife’s life. But he will, in due time. I get to play first.
